Cop Mode
by Whitters
Summary: For the past eight months he'd been in an internal battle when it came to cop mode versus undercover mode. Now he'd be back in uniform and that restraint wouldn't be needed; especially not with McNally. Sam Swarek. FicTacToe.


_This one has been a REALLY long time coming. But I really wanted to focus on Her Own Rules and get it done! Now that's accomplished and there's no excuse for me to procrastinate anymore!_

_For the FicTacToe Challenge – Looks like we're gonna end up in a stalemate Kris!_

_**Temperance**__ : moderation in action, thought or feeling; restraint; self-control_

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**Cop Mode**

* * *

_Bang. Bang._

He only gets half way through his contemplation over whether or not the fact that gunshots didn't faze him anymore was a bad thing when Pedro's frantic voice brings him out of his thoughts.

"What the hell was that?" the man cries frantically and Sam can't help but curse under his breath. Pedro really is the biggest chicken on the streets and it's probably why he's also got the biggest mouth; all you have to do is threaten a little violence and he'll spill just about anything.

"It was just something downstairs man," Sam shrugs, trying to show that he's unconcerned. "Nothing to do with us.

"Look there!" Pedro exclaims, pointing out the window to where two boys are running down the fire escape—moving as if hell itself was hot on their heels.

_Probably the shooters_, his mind reasons as he watches one of the boys disappear into an abandoned building across the alley. _And it looks like they're going to get away with it._

Sam knows immediately that he's made a mistake by allowing himself to think that far into the situation. His cop mode—as Shaw had once called it—is starting to kick in and just sitting still becomes a hassle. Cursing once again and crushing his eyes closed for a minute, Sam steadies himself against the onslaught of emotions that he's had to fight off one too many times for his liking in the past eight months.

He's a cop. He should be jumping into action right now; tearing down the fire escape and finding those boys before they can stash the weapon or hide. He should be arresting them and taking them back to the barn to face punishment. He should be doing at least _something_.

But he can't. Because right now he's not a cop; not an authority figure of any sort. He's Sam: addict and small-time drug dealer. He's two weeks away from making the biggest bust of his career, and there's no way he's going to let cop mode ruin that for him.

So with every last ounce of self control he possesses, Sam forces his eyes open once again and glances over at his friend.

"Who cares," he replies, ignoring the sound of sirens as police—probably officers he knows—arrive at the scene. He gives Pedro's arm a quick tug, pulling the man back from the window, "Like I said, nothing to do with us. Now do you have my money or what?"

"Yeah, yeah," Pedro rambles, reaching into his pocket and producing a large wad of folded up bills. "It's all there, I promise."

"Yeah, well," Sam scoffs, feeling himself easily fall back into the undercover role, "the word of an addict is about as good as my dead grandmother's. So if you don't mind," he pauses, pulling the rubber band off the cash, "I'll just count it for myself."

"Sure man," Pedro complies, "go ahead." Sam can't help but notice that the man still looks scared out of his wits so he makes a decision: he'll count the money, and then they'll get out of there.

Besides, it won't be long before the cops start to search the house, and the last thing he wants is to come face-to-face with an old friend while he's on the job. It was hard enough to have left them all in the first place, even if going undercover had been something he wanted to do. Seeing his friends and having to pretend not to know them would just make things twice as hard for him.

_Two more weeks, Sam, _he tells himself, beginning to count the money in his hand. _Two more weeks_ _and then life goes back to being easy_.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door and Sam's eyes snap to the door. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that paying attention to what was going on outside really hadn't crossed his mind.

"Oh shit, man!" Pedro cries and he flashes the man a dangerous look.

"Shut up!" he commands.

"Police! Open up!" comes a shout from the other side of the door, and to Sam's horror, Pedro actually begins moving towards it!

"Don't even think about it!" he warns.

"Shit man!" Pedro turns back towards him and for a moment Sam imagines just leaving the man. "We gotta get out of here!"

There isn't time to react however, because moments later the door comes crashing open and a uniformed officer appears.

"That is a crappy lock," Sam muses, taking a few seconds to observe the woman in the doorway before deciding that it must be his lucky day. She's just a rookie; probably only in her first week of probation. It's definitely a good thing. It means he can get out.

"Don't move," the woman commands him, and Sam can tell she's about as scared as Pedro—Pedro the chicken whose already got his hands sky-high. "Put your hands up!"

He doesn't comply with her order but instead stands up casually, stuffing the money Pedro had given him into his pocket. He knows she'll catch hell for allowing two people to flee the scene, but right now that's the least of his concerns. In two weeks when they're officially coworkers he'll make it up to her somehow. Maybe he'll ask her out to dinner because, despite the fact that she's pointing a gun at him, Sam can't help but notice that she's incredibly attractive.

"I said don't move! Stay where you are!" she shouts and Sam knows it's time to go.

"See ya," he calls, grabbing the window frame and hoisting himself out onto the roof.

"No, I..." he can hear the rookie shout behind him and allows himself a small chuckle. That is, until he realizes Pedro isn't behind him.

With a loud groan, he turns around and makes his way back towards the window, reaching in and grabbing hold of one of Pedro's arms.

"Here we go!" he tells his friend, hoping that the man would catch the subtle 'get your ass moving' undertone.

"Stop!" the woman yells again, but she makes no effort to move. For a second Sam is positive she's not going to give chase.

He did it... Escaped a rookie, saved his friend's ass, and now he's home free.

He's not exactly sure where it all went wrong...

Maybe it was when the rookie—he later found out her name was Andy McNally—had tackled him in the alleyway and he hadn't fought her off. Sam was fully confident in his strength and fighting abilities but the truth was he hadn't wanted to hurt her so he'd held back. His reward for the display of control was a ride to the barn in Oliver's squad car as his friend shot him amused looks every so often from the front seat.

Maybe it was the part where he'd snapped and yelled at her in front of Jerry, Oliver and Boyko even though it wasn't really her fault. Sure, she had arrested him, but that didn't exactly warrant the hug Jerry had decided to give him right in the middle of the booking room. If he should be mad at anyone, it was Detective Barber.

Maybe it was when he'd taken his frustration out on a locker only to discover afterwards that he hadn't been kicking his own. One of the rookies was sure going to have a hard time getting to his stuff now. But McNally had distracted him; bursting into the locker room with her indignant rant about not knowing secret handshakes and acting like a cop. He'd given her some advice and told her about the running boys just to get her out of there.

And now here he stood outside of Boyko's office; eight months of undercover work blown and the last little shreds of his self-control blown to smithereens.

"Sir?" he asks, knocking quickly before slinking into the room.

"Swarek?" Boyko asks, glancing up from his paperwork. "Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to, uh," he pauses, trying to formulate the right words to say. "It's just that I noticed we've got five rookies this year. And only three training officers."

"Yes, we do," the Boyko confirms, raising a curious eyebrow. "You offering to help out?"

"Yeah, well, I figure it might make up for my behavior earlier..." He's treading lightly now, since Boyko might actually be angry over his tantrum. "If I, you know, took on a rookie."

"Any particular rookie you have in mind?" For a second he's worried that Boyko's onto his game, but when the sergeant goes back to flipping through papers on his desk

"If I may say sir, I think McNally has potential," he waits a few seconds before continuing and doesn't even flinch when he's met with the sergeants questioning stare. "I mean, she took me down... That's saying something."

"Yes," Boyko chuckles, "that really is." He stops speaking, pretending to think it over for a few moments but Sam already knows what his answer is going to be. "Alright Swarek... You want her? You got her."

"Yes sir," he replies, trying to hide the slight excitement from his voice. He's come too far to blow it all now.

Making his way out of the sergeant's office, Sam can't help but smile to himself. For the past eight months he'd been in an internal battle when it came to cop mode versus undercover mode. Now he'd be back in uniform and that restraint wouldn't be needed; especially not with McNally.

Self-control be damned, he was going to make that rookie pay.

* * *

_I really don't know... This didn't come out how I imagined at all! And I'm not that proud of this one... But I'll hand off the baton anyways. Your turn Kris!_

_But oh if Sammy knew how things would turn out! Bwahaha!_

_Look for a couple Confessions chapters coming up and if you're on Twitter keep your eye out for those Steel Key teasers ^_^ Luff you guys!_


End file.
